


Work a Miracle (The You're So Fond Remix)

by coricomile



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Domestic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4232481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Ianto unlocks the door to see that his bookshelves have been moved across the room, switched with the entertainment center, he turns on his heel and walks back out. In his line of work, anything can change reality and he’s never sure how to proceed at first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Work a Miracle (The You're So Fond Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pocky_slash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Wish You Were Here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/393655) by [pocky_slash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash). 
  * In response to a prompt by [pocky_slash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash) in the [remixmadness2015](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/remixmadness2015) collection. 



Ianto likes his flat. It’s not much to write home about, just one bedroom and a tiny bathroom and a counter/fridge combo that calls itself a kitchen, but it’s his. There aren’t roaches in the cupboards and there aren’t junkies banging down the walls at all hours of the night. It’s not a posh mansion, but it’s not the estate either. That’s enough.

When he unlocks the door to see that his bookshelves have been moved across the room, switched with the entertainment center, he turns on his heel and walks back out. In his line of work, anything can change reality and he’s never sure how to proceed at first. Then Jack wanders out after him, braces hanging off his shoulders and grin splitting his face, and Ianto sighs. The aliens did come, but at least its a familiar one. 

“When did you even have time to do this?” Ianto asks as he takes his shoes off and puts them on the rack in the hall closet. Jack’s boots are in the middle of the floor, waiting eagerly to trip him up. 

“I have nothing but time,” Jack says brightly. He’s sweating, and Ianto ignores the urge to lick that nice, warm spot right below his jaw. He’s not going to encourage Jack’s bad behavior.

“I’ll remind you that you said that next time there’s paperwork due.” Ianto pokes at the bookshelves, pleased to see that the order is still intact. Move a man’s furniture, fine. Disrupt his organization system, burn in hellfire.

“You lack imagination, Ianto Jones.” Jack grabs him around the waist and pulls him back. He’s hot and solid and smells _amazing_ , even with the earthy scent of labor around of him. Maybe more so because of it.

“Why, precisely, did you feel the need to redecorate _my_ flat?” Ianto asks. He’s going to cave eventually. He always does. But until then, until Jack’s actually pushing him down onto the bed or the couch or the floor, he’s going to make him work for it.

“New look,” Jack says. There’s something off and Ianto narrows his eyes.

“What did you do?” He asks. Jack tightens his arms, trying to keep him pinned, but Ianto wriggles away. Now that he’s looking, really looking, he can see that there’s something not quite right with the wall behind the entertainment center.

“Do I get special consideration if I say it was an accident?” Jack follows after him as Ianto shoves the heavy wood out of the way. “Because it was.”

There’s a great bloody hole in the wall. 

It’s been covered in masking tape, but the center dips into the empty space where the drywall is supposed to be. Jack winces when Ianto glowers at him, shrinking down in an attempt to make himself look small and pathetic.

“What did you do?” Ianto asks again, words slow because if they aren’t he’s going to start shouting. 

“Tripped over the coffee table.” Jack scrubs at the back of his neck with one hand and shrugs. “Went right into the bookshelf and that went right into the wall. I’ll fix it. New coat of paint and everything. We can pick a new color. Spruce the place up. Win/win, right?”

“Might I remind you that you don’t live here and that whatever color you paint the wall- because you _are_ fixing it, Jack Harkness- will be the one _I_ pick.” Ianto pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath through his mouth. 

Looks like he’s not getting laid tonight after all. He will _not_ reward Jack’s bad behavior.

He grabs his phone, puts his shoes back on, and goes to the pub three blocks away. If Jack’s still there when he gets back, he’s going to clock him. It wouldn’t be the first time, doubtless it will be the last.

It’s barely two in the afternoon and he has to go back to work eventually, but Ianto orders a Guinness. He misses Gwen. If she were here, instead of off honeymooning in somewhere sunny and warm, he’d have someone to commiserate with. Or to foist Jack off on. Both sound fantastic.

He pulls up her number on his phone and considers calling her before sending a text that sounds pathetic even to him. She offers him no advice whatsoever, but he’s still smiling when he tucks his phone away. 

\---

The next morning, he wakes up alone. There’s a book of paint samples on his nightstand with an apologetic card propped on top of it. He scowls at the card and tosses it in the bin, but takes the book with him into the office. The living room could use some brightening up, and he’s not going to miss the chance to sit on the couch and dictate while Jack paints.

Owen is particularly bitchy, still peeved about his status as a pretty, pretty space princess, so Ianto retires to the tourist office to work from the computer up there. He flips through the paint chips idly between customers, pulling out a few and replacing them when they prove unsatisfactory.

Just before lunch, he settles on a nice beige. It’s subtle, but will help make the admittedly small room look larger. Not that he has much company to impress with it. He folds up the book, IMs Owen, Tosh and Jack for their orders, and heads out to the sandwich shop. 

When he returns, the paint chip is propped up on his computer, a yellow post-it with Jack’s handwriting just below the sample he’s chosen. 

_Boring! Red is much more your color._

On the keyboard, a chip with shades from pastel pink to fire engine red stares up at him. Jack’s ticked off the brightest red. Ianto sets the bag of sandwiches down and grabs a post-it. He writes his own note, pastes it on Jack’s sandwich wrapper, and delivers the lunches. 

Jack grins at him when he sees the note but says nothing. Ianto’s not stupid enough to think he’s let the issue drop, but he’s going to run with it for the moment.

\---

Gwen sends him a selfie of her and Rhys on the beach, both of them red from the sun and smiling brightly into the camera. She looks happier than he’s ever seen her. It looks good on her. Right.

She’s only got a week left of her holiday, but it feels like forever. Ianto doesn’t know when she picked up the role of best friend, but he’s gotten used to going out for drinks with her, for having planned nights for bitching about work and boys. 

When she comes back, they’ll go out and tell each other the best bits of the week. Hopefully, her stories will be better than his. 

Ianto puts his phone away and shrugs out of his jacket. He’s got two boxes of artifacts to store, which is a considerably lighter load than normal. It shouldn’t take long. When he reaches for the first box, a paint chip flutters to the floor. He sighs and picks it up.

The shade Jack’s picked is a bright, just a bit darker than baby boy blue. Less garish than the red, but no less wrong for the living room. Ianto reaches for the post-its on his dusty archive desk and scribbles down another note.

_A bit bright, don’t you think? Clashes with the rest of the flat._

His hand hovers over it for a moment, before he adds a PS. It never hurts to give Jack reminders of the facts. Given the chance, he’ll run away with an inch and turn it into a galaxy. 

_Also, YOU DON’T LIVE HERE_. 

He snaps a photo of it, sends it to Jack, and gets to work on the boxes. 

Ten minutes later, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He considers not looking at it, not giving Jack the chance to needle at him anymore, but it could be Gwen. The text is, of course, from Jack, a photo of another paint chip with a tick mark next to a shade of light purple. 

_Okay, okay. I know a compromise when I see one. Does this mean we’re getting new furniture?_

Ianto reminds Jack, one more sodding time, that he does not, in fact, live in Ianto’s flat and turns his phone off. 

\---

Ianto’s suit is a loss. He tries to shake the muck off his arm, but it clings stubbornly. When this is all done, when they’re _not in the bloody sewer_ he’s going to burn it. A proper funeral for a proper suit. 

Jack, as ever, is spotless. Ianto hates him, just a bit.

The rift monitor in his hand beeps steadily, leading them down the tunnels. Tosh and Owen are on the surface, keeping a watch for any Weevils that may take their underground trip as an excuse to go exploring. How he got stuck going in instead of them, he’ll never know.

Jack sees the thing before Ianto does, and he shoots off with a shout. Ianto races after him, gun up and heart pounding. He still doesn’t like the danger, doesn’t get off on it the way the others do, but he’s got a job to do and he’s going to do it as well as he can. 

When he rounds the corner, he draws up short. 

The thing is massive. It’s hunched over in the tunnel, great giant green head bowed. Its gaping mouth is full of rows and rows of teeth, more like a shark or a saw than anything else. Long, black claws tip off the ends of all three of its hands. The hand in the center has a gun. 

The gun looks like a toy in the thing’s monstrous hand, swamped by its sheer size. The nail looped over the trigger just barely fits. 

Jack holds his hands up over his head, his webley on the ground in front of him. He’s still trying to talk the alien down when a massive claw swipes him across the chest and throat, spraying blood over the walls. Ianto’s heart seizes in his chest. No. Not again.

He fires off three shots, the sound of his gun like bombs exploding as it bounces off the stones and pipework, and feels something hot and sharp pierce his arm, right above his elbow. Ricochet, rounded walls bad for shooting in. The alien runs away, giant feet shaking the ground.

Ianto runs to Jack’s side, dropping down to his knees and drawing him in. His head flops a little as Ianto rests it against his own knee, his trachea severed. He stares up with blank eyes, all the light gone from him. 

Ianto should be going after the alien. He should be chasing it and putting it down before it can cause more damage, but he can’t leave Jack’s body. He won’t let Jack wake up alone. 

He presses the button on his comm, blood tacky fingers sticking to his hair, and tries to call up to Tosh and Owen. Silence is the only thing that reaches him. He tries again, and again, but no one answers. He fumbles for his phone, the pain in his arm excruciating, and dials both of them three times. 

He’s calling Gwen before he realizes it. She shouldn’t be dragged into this. She’s supposed to be on holiday, enjoying the last good time she’ll get to have, but he can’t sit here alone with Jack’s bleeding corpse. Her voicemail picks up, her voice bright and Rhys hollering in the background.

“Um. No... reason for the call,” Ianto says, hoping he doesn’t sound as frightened as he feels. Watching Jack die is always terrifying. He knows he’ll come back. He always does. Knowing does nothing to soothe him, though. “Hope you're enjoying your honeymoon. I'll... speak with you soon.”

Ianto hangs up and folds himself over Jack’s body. It’s started to go cold, rigid. Ianto wants to take on of Jack’s hands in his, rub warmth back into him. It’s useless- without the blood pumping, trying to make it circulate faster is pointless- but he still does it anyway.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, swallowing down his anxiety. His head feels fuzzy, and his arm has gone numb. If he thinks about all the kinds of infections he could be getting just sitting here, damp with things he doesn’t want to think about, he can almost push it to the back of his mind.

Something is wrong. More wrong than usual. Jack usually comes back in ten minutes or less, his body repairing at super speeds. His throat is still open, his stomach open. Panic wells up in Ianto’s chest, making the dizziness worse.

“Come back to me,” Ianto says, resting his forehead against Jack’s. The smell of blood is overwhelming, sharp and acrid. “Come back to me and we’ll paint the living room that awful purple and buy all the ugly furniture you want. Just come back.”

Jack remains silent and still.

He reaches for his phone, dials with weak, clumsy fingers, and listens to Gwen’s voice telling him to leave a message. If she were here-

“It never takes this long,” Ianto says into the phone. It’s hard to move his mouth. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to leave him.” Ianto wavers, rocking dangerously backwards. He touches the spot on his arm that’s just began to hurt again and is surprised to feel it so slick. When he looks down, he sees the neat bullet hole cutting through his jacket and into his skin. He feels sick. “I’m bleeding rather badly. Where’s Owen? I think I need-”

The world goes dark. 

\---

Ianto wakes up to Owen tapping his cheek with one gloved finger. The lights of the autopsy bay are too bright and Ianto clenches his eyes shut again. His head is killing him.

“Rise and shine, tea boy,” Owen says, his voice like thunder in Ianto’s ears. “You’ve been out for a while. Need to make sure you’re still in there.”

“No one is home. Check back later,” Ianto says, throwing an arm over his eyes. Pain lances through him and he swears.

“Yeah, best not do that,” Owen says. “Apparently, you were shot and too stupid to work your way back to the surface.”

“Couldn’t leave Jack,” Ianto mumbles. His heart skips a beat. “Jack?”

“Right here,” Jack says, voice close. Ianto turns his head and risks cracking open an eye. Jack brushes his hair from his forehead and offers a small smile. “Good as new.”

“Which can’t be said for you,” Owen tsks. “Get him up. He needs a sling and a shot.”

Jack helps Ianto sit up and supports him with a hand on his back. Owen slings him up and jabs him three times- blood sample, antibiotics, painkillers- and snaps his gloves off. He’s got a scratch on his cheek and another on his forehead. Tosh is nowhere to be seen.

“Why couldn’t I get ahold of you?” Ianto asks. His tongue already feels thick. Owen gave him the good stuff. 

“Had to head off a group of Weevils,” Owen says. He rubs at his forehead, scowling. “Bastards nearly took my head off.” An image of Jack’s open throat flickers behind Ianto’s eyelids and he tries to hold back his wince. Jack rubs a soothing circle on his back. He’s alive. He’s here. There’s nothing to worry about.

“I sent Tosh home for the day,” Jack says, heading off Ianto’s next question. “She twisted her ankle. She should be fine by tomorrow.”

“Right,” Ianto slurs. He blinks, and Owen disappears. He blinks again, and he’s laid out on the couch, changed into a pair of Jack’s shorts and a soft tshirt. He sleeps.

When he wakes up, he calls Gwen to apologize. She yells at him for five minutes straight, but her voice sounds so good that he can’t even bother to make noises of sympathy. She tells him to stop being a baby about painting the living room, tells him she loves him, and hangs up to go out for dinner. Four days until she’s back. He almost feels bad for her.

\---

Jack hovers around him like a moon orbiting a planet. Ianto trips over him twice, scattering papers onto the floor and swearing when his arm is jostled. Jack gives him a sheepish grin and picks everything up. 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Ianto says when Jack and Tosh team up to make him take a break. They give him big, watery eyes and he throws his good hand into the air. 

He spends his break texting Gwen, feeling a little bad about complaining so much, but not bad enough to stop. She doesn’t let him get away with his bad mood, and he loves her a bit for it. She sends him a photo of the sunrise and he sends her one of Janet. 

When he clears up Jack’s office- how one man makes such a mess, he’ll never know- he finds the purple paint chip on his desk. He traces the edge of it with a fingertip before tucking it into his pocket. It’s not so bad. Not really. And he did make a promise.

Jack takes him home, driving Ianto’s car carefully and keeping up a cheerful bunch of chatter. Ianto can’t stop looking at his throat. The skin is smooth and unblemished, just the way it’s always been, but he knows.

He lets Jack set him up on the couch, tucked into too many pillows, lets Jack feed him cup after cup of tea. The pain isn’t too terrible, Owen’s cocktail of painkillers magnificent, but he kind of likes Jack fussing about. Not that he’ll admit it under pain of death.

When they head to the bedroom, Ianto pulls the paint chip from his pocket and hands it over. Jack blinks at it for a moment before grinning. _Alive, alive, alive._

“I thought I didn’t live here,” Jack says, wrapping a careful arm around Ianto’s waist. He smells like soap and sweat and spice. 

“You do and you know it,” Ianto grumbles. Jack’s grin splits his face. He looks happy. Sincere. Ianto’s heart beats faster. 

“Can we get the egg chairs?” Jack asks, waltzing Ianto back to the mattress. He lays him down, careful of Ianto’s arm, and waggles his eyebrows.

“I will throw them out of the window with you in,” Ianto says. Jack laughs and kisses him.

\---

Gwen is beach tanned and radiant, her smile as wide as the ocean when she sees Jack and Ianto. She rushes to them, leaving poor Rhys with the bags, and pulls Ianto into a hug. His arm twinges, but he hugs her back just as fiercely. 

“Look at you,” she says, fussing at his sling. “Can’t leave you alone for ten minutes without you getting shot at.”

“You know Ianto,” Jack says, throwing an arm around Ianto’s shoulders. “He’s a trouble magnet.”

“That’s how he got stuck with you,” Gwen says. She prods Jack in the stomach with one finger, her engagement ring shining in the airport lights, and sticks her tongue out.

“Oy,” Rhys calls, lumbering over. There’s at least one more bag than what they left with. “A little help here.”

Jack helps him with the bags, and Ianto climbs into the back seat with Gwen. She lays her head on his good shoulder as Jack pulls away. It’s good to have her home. 

“So,” she says, low enough that Rhys and Jack won’t be able to hear, “he’s got you furniture shopping now, has he?”

“Shut up,” Ianto says. He glances up in the rearview mirror and catches Jack watching him.

“I told you so,” Gwen says, patting Ianto’s knee. 

Ianto smiles at Jack and closes his eyes. He’s got a long weekend of shooting down ugly couches ahead of him. He needs his rest.


End file.
